The Art Of Giving

My third BJJ tournament was so much fun. We are a huge group. We all know each other. We tirelessly support each other. We are a team. We are a family. Including the ones we don't love-love when we're in class together. Imagine your entire family going to a fun game together. Not just your mom and dad family, but your brothers, sisters, their spouses, kids, cousins, second cousins, first cousins twice removed, and all their kids too. I made ham sandwiches for the occasion.

It was a small tournament, and the only fighter available in my age division was someone thirty pounds heavier. The fight was late in the day, because they had forgotten about our cross-division bracket. Like all BJJ tournaments, they often forget a division, because someone dropped the paper that your fight was written on while they went to get a drink of water, and unless you say something they'll just forget you were there. So after a few hours of restlessness, I said something. I declared that I would be fighting in a few minutes. It happened.

A few days later, I said something to a person who has a big project brewing. My paper had dropped to the floor while he worked on other affairs. I called him and said "I want this project. I have not stopped thinking about it since we first spoke of it. I look at Google Maps satellite of the site every few days. I sketch. What I want to know is how do I get the job, right now?" I have stopped playing small. I think the potential client liked my brashness. But I was just having fun. Who doesn't want that? And who doesn't want to work with someone who declares that he will make a particular outcome happen?

So my last tournament fight was something like this. But I just made that connection up right now. You could also see something else out of it. Just before the fight, I was not nervous. It was the first time. I knew the opponent was bigger, because I could see him in front of me, and also because my master teacher had told me hours ago that he had accepted this fight on my behalf. I trust him, so I said yes to his already-said-yes. Besides, the first time I submitted someone in tournament, during my second tournament, it was against an opponent at least 50 lbs heavier. He tapped on my x-choke from guard, and was dazed on the mat for a minute before he could stand. Fighting a bigger guy is all upside.

I chose that this new fight was going to be fun. Right then standing in front of my opponent. Team Family was all around the fencing there, everyone having finished fighting for the day, and focused only on me. That was nice in and of itself. Master teacher had snuck onto the mat, sitting just inside the fence, illegal but everyone respects him too much to shoo him out like they do the other teachers. He called me over as they were resetting the clock. I bent down, and his advice was this:

"Shad. Think as if your opponent is me, and oh! you need to get me!" (he used his name instead of "me") and then he smiled wide.

Second tournament's advice: "Keep moving, moving, do your technique."

First tournament's advice: "Do not stay on your back, stay on your side."

So third tournament's advice was have fun. He read my mind. Or, perhaps he and I were of the same mind: he knows me so well, that he can check in with himself and know what I am thinking. I went back to my starting position, faced my opponent, then turned to teacher and laughed and tapped my head. "That's a good one" I yelled over to him. Then I turned to my opponent, shook his hand, and we started to have fun.

The fight was intense, as they all are. All four opponents are there, as they always are, but this time the most difficult was the clock opponent. I am old, I only get 5 minute fights now. My sparring partner was strong, impossible to throw around, and sloppy. So he played it safe, playing me to a draw. When he moved I scored with my awesome blue belt jiu jitsu (joke) but he caught me sleeping one time and scored in kind. The fight landed in his favor because he scored two more advantages than I, thus breaking the tie. But we ended well and I felt rewarded getting second place, even though I had lost the fight.

A little later, master teacher got us in a circle. We had just won our first second place trophy. Our school is only 9 months old. He said "today" and pointed at the trophy in front of him. "But tomorrow" and he put the trophy to the side, stepping where it had been, "you live your life". Then he paused. "This is my family," including us in, which is saying something: he has a great wife and two awesome daughters who were with us all day. "Brazil was Brazil. Now, USA. This is my-time, and this is my-team." Except he said team the way he said family earlier: with unmistakable tenderness. With the certainty of knowing his words cause it to happen.